Closing Time
by Miss-Murdered
Summary: Duo knows who he wants to take him home at the end of a heavy night drinking. 2x3


Disclaimer: I own nothin'

Pairings/Warnings: 2+3 ish, alcohol, bad language, light angst, dirty thoughts

A/N: Inspired by the song _Closing Time_ by Semisonic

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 **Closing Time**

It was hard to get me drunk, lemme tell you. It's not that I'm a heavy drinker - more an occasional heavy drinker - but due to whatever tinkering the good ol' Doc G did to me, I have a high tolerance threshold so I need a lot to get me buzzed. Even more to get me into the sorta stupor I wanted to be in right now. It sucked but hey, least it was one of the only side effects of my Gundam pilot teen years. Apart from the weird ass pain in the neck I got occasionally. And I'm not talking about Yuy.

So I've been at the bar since four, started on beers and peanuts and worked my way up to whiskey. It's now closing time and I feel the slight tingle of alcohol in my system, the slight loss of equilibrium, but it ain't enough. It never is but I'll finish my bottle, left by the guy behind the bar who was now wiping down the surface as he looked around the mostly empty place. I've paid for it after all, paid a week's work of salary probably for a shitty whiskey but it's the colonies, right? You pay for all the import tax for "luxuries" so I just handed over my card and didn't give a shit as all I wanted to do was _forget._

Okay, I can be a melodramatic little bitch from time to time as real life… real life sucks. It's the problem with being invincible at fifteen, at surviving during your childhood years that the whole work nine to five, live in an apartment and eat three square meals a day is just… it's just not something I'm good at. I mean, I don't work nine to five, thank fuck for Une and Prev, but hell… I put on a uniform and make my bed and try to eat breakfast. So hell, I'm almost living a "normal life". But this ain't me being melodramatic. This is what happens after a fuck up of a mission and the whole "unavoidable casualties" bullshit that gets written in reports.

I lost a few men. A few good guys. And I _hate_ losing people as this ain't war – this is the world where I can pick to buy five brands of cereal and bullshit plays on tablet screens and it's meant to be _done._ It's meant to be perfect and all the bastards are meant to be dead. But it's not – not perfect and there's never gonna be peace. And some days I accept that I gave up so much for a more peaceful world – that I was beaten and tortured and fought for _something_ as the world is better. And some days I think why did I bother as it's only a little better. Only a little.

Sighing, I swig my drink and prepare to pour my last few glasses. I know the dude behind the bar wants rid of me as I'm one of the few patrons left but I also know he's scared of me due to my bruised face and kickass tats so I'm gonna finish my bottle before I go. I'll throw him a tip to make up for it.

As I take my sip, I suddenly feel the lightest tap on my shoulder and I turn, surprised as only one person in the goddamn world can sneak up on me. And he's six four worth of pure muscle with the greenest damn eyes you've ever seen. And he's stood behind me. See, Heero ain't got the silent walk thing. Neither has 'Fei as he's got this little… straight posture ass walk… but Trowa is totally silent. Always has been, always will be…

"It's you that's taking me home, huh?" I ask as he sidles to sit on the bar stool beside me.

"Yeah," he breathes as he gestures for a glass to the barman who gratefully provides it, smiling.

I guess the guy had called. Maybe Prev. It wasn't an unusual situation for drunk Prev agents to be in this particular bar. It was close to the main HQ and so it was a pretty regular thing. So they probably called reception and tried to find someone to talk to who would pick up an inebriated agent and voila – Trowa appears.

How about that?

I watch as he pours himself some whiskey and then top off my glass so that the bottles done. I offer a "cheers" and then grin when he takes a sip and shudders.

"How the hell are you drinking this?"

"After a fuck ton of beers you don't notice, Tro."

He scowls and then drinks some more as I finish mine, the companionable silence between us. I'm glad it's not Heero taking me home as 'Ro… well, he'd glare and tell me off and I'm glad it's not 'Fei as he'd… glare and tell me off, too. Quat's fuck knows where so there's no chance of him but I'm so fucking glad it's Trowa. And I'd tell him that but he _knows,_ you know?

As I won't have to ask him to stay until I fall asleep. And I won't have to ask him to brush his hands down my braid and I won't have to ask him to kiss my damn forehead as he knows. Right now, he knows what I need and he does it all with the ease and grace he's always had. I hate him for that. Or maybe I hate myself for that as we get close… you know, every time we get so close but we both know we'll fuck it up so we leave it at flushed kisses and caresses and maybe one day we won't be so fucked up but not now. Not yet.

So I'll just let him take me home.

"Ready?" he asks, my glass on the bar and I nod as I bring out my wallet.

I tip the barman, smile in his direction and he smiles back, waves at Trowa as we walk out. It's late – hey, it is closing time – so we walk to my place, slow and steady and I occasionally need to lean on him and smell that cologne he wears that Catherine sends him and I like bumping into the material of his grey sweater. I want… I want to kiss him and forget about my damn interrogation about the report and I want more than that… I know it'd feel good. Fuck, I've imagined it enough times but when we get back to my apartment, he only lets me kiss him light and smooth on the lips, the briefest of presses.

"Duo…" he says, low and sexy and I'm putty if he wants me but he shakes his head, the bang falling into his eyes more and I nod and step back.

"Bed… I know."

It's not rejection… it's being just not ready so I go to my bedroom, strip down to boxers and climb into my bed and he joins me after, stripping to a vest and his tight boxer briefs that I eye up. He glares back as he gets into bed too, letting me get as close as I like as I feel his fingers thread in my hair.

"I'm glad it was you who brought me home," I whisper.

"Me too."

And with my alcohol fuelled body and Trowa's body wrapped around mine, I fall asleep, forgetting about the "unavoidable casualties" for a while.


End file.
